Consequentialism and Unit Conversions

It is easy to compare measures in the same units; comparing measures in different units of the same type (as length or time) merely takes a bit more work. But how is one to compare measures in units of different types? Is a mile more or less than a minute? One can answer this question readily in a specific context; if driving at 60 mph, the two may be called equivalent. But unlike a conversion between, say, feet and metres, where the conversion is inherent to the units involved, such a conversion between miles and minutes relies also on the situation.

All this is a very roundabout method of presenting my fundamental difficulty with consequentialism: it relies on mathematically impossible calculations. A consequentialist asserts that the value of an action can be measured by its consequences, and actions compared by the relative worth of their consequences. The difficulty is in comparing the value of disparate things. A typical consequentialist argument that I hear too often is that the harm done by taxation is smaller than the good provided by the security that the taxation can secure, and that therefore taxation is a net good. This argument could mean one of two things. Possibly, it means that physical security is more important than financial security, and therefore that any increase in physical security outweighs any amount of taxation. But this seems false; is security so valuable that the smallest modicum of security outweighs the greatest theft?1 Perhaps, then, the argument is proportional: the actual security gained outweighs the theft, although were the provision of security less efficient it would not. But security is one thing, and theft another. By what conversion are we to compare one to the other? It might be objected that individuals perform such tradeoffs daily; when one purchases a good or service one is asserting that one prefers the item to the money, and the conversion is contextually supplied by one’s preferences. However, another might choose differently, and therefore the conversion is therefore not universal but situational. Furthermore, only individuals hold preferences, strictly speaking; societal preferences must be built from individual preferences, and no method of doing this is inherent to the preferences.2 And, even if such a conversion did exist, I have never heard mention of it in such discussions. How does the consequentialist decide which quantity is greater, aside from a conversion standard? He cannot. Yet one who asserts one thing to be better than another without comparison of their effects by some such conversion is no true consequentialist.

Some utilitarians, such as the hedonists, seek to avoid this problem by avoiding such conversions, claiming that only pleasure is good and thus that all things may be compared in common units of pleasure. But pleasure is by no means as simple to measure as distance. J.S. Mill, for example, divides pleasure into higher and lower types, which are to be valued differently. But at what exchange? Bentham attempts to avoid that difficulty with his claim that “quantity of pleasure being the same, pushpin is as good as poetry.” But how are we to measure pleasure? What, precisely, is a packet of pleasure? Or is it continuous, rather than discrete? I see no path around the question within consequentialism, nor do I see a direct solution.

Therefore, it seems to me that consequentialism cannot serve as a guide to conduct. Whenever you hear someone saying that we should do something because its gains outweigh its losses, or one thing rather than another because its net gain is greater, and the consequences at issue are disparate, ask by what conversion he compares the two. If he cannot answer, his argument is nonsensical; if subjective, his argument fails to bind others. A legitimate answer I have never heard.

1 I do not wish to assume that theft is innately bad, which any consistent consequentialist would deny, but that the seizure of resources prevents them from being used elsewhere, causing (presumably) some loss of good.

2 This, of course, does exclude any claim that the free market uniquely identifies societal preferences. On the other hand, it also precludes any argument that it does not–the matter is simply undefined. Distribution must be determined without recourse to welfare arguments (which allows the reentry of the free market as just).

A defense of the supernatural

Let us hypothetically assume materialism, that all possibilities are completely described by physical specification. Under this assumption, I do not believe that any moral statements can be justified. In a materialistic universe, all possibilities are adequately described physically; therefore, a moral statement would be a reason for preferring one physical arrangement to another. On what grounds could one make such a claim? The preference could not refer to any non-physical standard, such as symmetry or order, for such a standard, if true, would be a true non-physical statement and thus contradict the assumed materialism. The standard cannot be contained in some portion of the physical universe, for rules for mapping states to prescriptions are without limit, and the rule used would then become a non-physical statement.1 The standard could not be correspondence of the whole universe to itself, for that is tautologically true. Therefore, no standard is consistent with materialism, whether not founded on any physical facts, on some facts, or on all. Consequently, no preference among possible configurations of atoms can be justified.

But, following our original assumption of materialism, only configurations of atoms exist, and thus all things, including thoughts, are solely configurations of atoms. Thus, within a materialistic universe, no belief is preferable to any other. Consequently, if materialism is true, the set of atoms corresponding to belief in materialism is in no way preferable to that corresponding to disbelief, even though the former is true and the latter false: the consistent materialist cannot prefer truth to falsehood.

On the other hand we may consider the rule that belief in truth is better than belief in falsehood. This being a nonphysical fact, it is inconsistent with materialism. If it is true, then to believe it is better than to believe the contrary; if false, not. Thus, I conclude that belief in materialism is, even if logically consistent, irrational, for belief in the preferability of truth to falsehood is better than belief in materialism if true, but is not worse if false.

1 Thus we may dispense with attempts at materialistic egotism. Whence does the materialist determine that the arbitrary group of atoms he considers himself are preferable as a normative standard?

Indirect Proof and Necessary Evils

In most fields of philosophy, a set of propositions that entails a contradiction is held inconsistent, following the law of non-contradiction.1 Where one can rank the support for the various propositions, this allows the figure of indirect proof: if adding a proposition to a set of beliefs singly better supported than it produces a contradiction, the proposition added must be considered false.2

In one field of philosophy, however, most people seem to hold this method of reasoning invalid: ethics. Many proposed ethical systems place upon people burdens to two or more incompatible actions. Elsewhere, such a system would be held inconsistent, and in need of alteration. In ethics, however, the law of non-contradiction does not seem to apply: an actor faced with contradictory obligations should follow one, considering his violation of the other a necessary evil, regrettable but not fatal to the system.3

This strikes me as exceedingly sloppy reasoning. We do not hold that although Newtonian physics and relativity are contradictory, they are both true and we should follow one, considering our denial of the other necessary to avoid indeterminacy; we hold that the contradiction renders any belief in both necessarily false. So it should be in ethics. There are no necessary evils; only false ethical systems that produce them. The true ethical system will at no time obligate an actor to two incompatible actions. This does not mean, of course, that I believe that, a priori, if an ethical system is to prohibit, for example, lying, it must do so in all circumstances; that prohibition may have exceptions (“One may not lie except to criminals”, or even “One may not lie except when doing so is commanded by a higher principle”, with the precedence established).4 However, these exceptions must be inherent to the original ordinance, and not produced from the conflict of absolute ordinances.

Law being a subset of ethics governing enforceable interpersonal interactions, rights are also subject to this prohibition of contradiction. No right may be justly violated at the instigation of any other ethical principle. Thus, long lists of “human rights” such as those of the UN are necessarily false, for they place agents under competing ethical claims. Even the rights to free speech and freedom of property are inconsistent, as in the stock case of crying “fire”. Traditionally, it has been held that in this case the latter right overrides the former. I say, on the other hand, that this instead means that one of these rights is not a true right, but rather a manifestation of something else. Legal questions must be solved by argument from sound principles, not by weighing of incompatible principles in incommensurate units.

1 A strong contradiction is, however, necessary. A set of propositions that produces a paradox is not inconsistent unless the addition of other certain premises produces a strong contradiction.

2 Note, however, that this also applies to the better-supported premises; their contradiction of a supported premise lowers their support correspondingly, even though from the assumption that they are better supported than the new proposition their support remains positive. Thus, one cannot use a set of propositions to disprove a large number of propositions only slightly less-well supported; even though it is more plausible that any one of the introduced propositions be false, it is more plausible that some proposition in the original set be false than that all of the introduced propositions be false. Thus, the set of propositions believed true should be the set that minimizes the combined evidence in favor of propositions believed false.

3 And it is not clear to me why he should do one instead of the other. If government is a necessary evil, unjust but necessary to prevent other injustices, why should we not hold that the injustices consequent on the absence of government are a necessary evil, unjust but irremediable without other injustice?

4 This is ultimately the problem with Kantian ethics and rule utilitarianism. Kant’s categorical imperative may be valid in principle (and is a necessary consequence of moral absolutism), but his use of it to obtain, for example, an absolute prohibition on lying ignores that the true rule of behaviour is not necessarily “lying is acceptable”, but rather “lying is acceptable in this situation”, which one could wish to be a universal principle of action without the consequences attending permission of lying in general. Similarly, for any proposed rule under rule utilitarianism one could propose the modified rule that the previous rule is to be followed except when violations of it would improve utility. The rule utilitarian would then have to say that there is no such instance, which requires much stronger support (and, arguably, moves rule utilitarianism indistinguishably close to deontology, merely approaching from the opposite side (assuming the consistency principle)).

Is and Ought

Certain concepts are irreducible, lexically explicable only by circular reference. Reality is one such, definable only in terms of itself. One may specify its proper scope (e.g. “what does not cease to be when one ceases to believe in it”), but not its essential meaning.1 Obligation, too, is irreducible: one may say that we have an obligation to do what is right, and the pursuit of good is right, but ultimately must return to say that good is what we are obliged to pursue.

Inherent to the notion of a fundamental concept is that it is explicable only in terms of itself. Therefore, all attempts to define the nature of reality are pointless: we may be able to find an intricately circular definition, but it will ultimately come down to “what exists, exists”. Cartesian demon presentations of skepticism miss the point: if that is the nature of reality, then so be it. It is still reality, still an environment beyond my control. It is possible to argue that nothing is real, that there is no environment, that everything we experience we actively create, but that seems quite implausible (try as I might, I cannot make myself believe that I am a tree).

Obligation is, like reality, a fundamental concept not explicable except circularly. No amount of reasoning can move from a statement of reality to a statement of obligation. Any such attempt must involve an implicit normative premise, and therefore begs the question as an attempt to define obligation in terms of reality. Utilitarianism, for example, is not a simple definition of the good as the greatest aggregate utility; it is a normative statement that the greatest aggregate utility should be pursued. All ethical theories must contain foundational normative premises that cannot be reduced to observation of reality.

Choice relies on both these realms, applying a normative major premise to a positive minor premise returning an ethical statement to guide action. No theory can avoid this: one can explain the actions of others by positive determinism, but by introspection, one must have some other principle to guide one’s own deliberation. One may attempt to act in conformity to the factors determining the actions of others, but this itself is an ethical belief, that it is right to do so. Amoral action is impossible. Furthermore, relativistic moralities are incoherent, relying on the absolute premise that one should follow whatever relative standard is proposed.

The seeming consequence of this is that one can never violate one’s principles, for all actions, insofar as they are willful, arise from normative syllogisms. Thus, what does it mean to do what one knows to be wrong? Not to forsake ethics, but to abandon one’s former ethical system for another. All wrongdoing is intellectual error. However, we must remember that thought and memory is not static. One can forsake one belief for another in a moment and revert as quickly, as when one afraid of insects but cognizant of their harmlessness starts on encountering one. He started because he feared harm, which fear he knows to be groundless. Nevertheless, he deserted that belief when it became important. Similarly, one who does wrong that he knows to be wrong does not act contrary to his beliefs, but rather temporarily forsakes those beliefs. One may, of course, also be continually wrong, without such a reversion to right beliefs; such are those who know neither repent nor regret. In any case, the fundamental error is in the intellect, not the will. One can never act contrary to what one thinks right at the moment.

1 Many argue that one cannot define the essence of any concept. I would agree that one cannot define any term without recourse to concepts not essentially definable, but I believe that derivative concepts may be so defined.

Freedom and Coercion

What does it mean to be free? Many, I think, would say that freedom is found in self-determination, the ability to choose one’s course of life. Interference with that choice is destructive of freedom, whatever its intention. To an extent, I would agree. However, we must remember that choice is not of results, but of actions. God, in creating nature, embedded in it a certain payoff matrix: certain actions bring certain results. Freedom is the ability to choose one’s actions and their inherent results, not the ability to choose results independent of action.

Thus, we may identify the first fallacious opinion regarding freedom, that it encompasses such things as “freedom from hunger”, or “freedom from want”. Freedom means the ability to choose a course of action that satisfies one’s hungers or wants, if one is available in nature,1 but does not mean the ability to have one’s desires met regardless of the course of life one chooses. Preventing someone from accepting a job offered him does violate his freedom; however, if he chooses to reject the job offered, his “right to a job” does not entitle him to some other. Freedom means only the ability to choose one’s actions, not the results one would like.

But this definition is incomplete, for it would seem to permit many seeming violations of freedom. The robber who offers the choice of “your money or your life” does not seem to restrict one’s options for action, yet any sensible theory of freedom would regard his action as a violation of freedom.2 Thus, I would add the provision that one may also not interfere with the natural payoff matrix: freedom entitles people not only to to choose their course of action, but also to reap the natural consequences of that action. We may, however, here distinguish between material and moral freedom: the robber’s dilemma infringes on his victim’s material freedom, but the actor still has moral freedom of will, and remains responsible for his actions. No amount of compulsion justifies commission of wrong.3

But by appealing to natural payoffs, I obligate myself to define naturality. Naturality does not mean what would happen without human interaction, for then the criterion would not apply to actions dependent on interaction with other men (as our contrafactual refers not merely to the contrafactual, but to the nonsensical “what compensation would one man owe for stealing from another if that other did not exist?”). I do, however, believe that naturality only involves reference to other humans when their existence is a logical prerequisite of the situation. The settler in a new land does not logically rely on others, despite any potential material dependence; consequently, the natural results of his actions should not depend on others. Similarly, the solitary worker does not depend on others, and his ability to enjoy the product of his labor is independent of others, and their interference would violate his freedom. But what if two men cooperate? We may renormalize, and say that their proceeds do not depend on the presence of others. But what of the distribution between them? I see no reason for preferring any particular distribution, at least on the grounds of freedom, other than that security in their own persons, that not being a product of their cooperation, must remain inviolate (thus supporting any agreement reached; the ethics of promises and future contracts is quite a mess, and I shall not address it here). This similar procedure may be applied, I believe, to all further questions. One case I would like to address, however, is theft (which may be generalized, mutatis mutandis, to other violences). The thief obviously has no right to the proceeds gained thereby, for they are not a natural consequence of his actions. Meanwhile, the goods gained thereby were the natural consequence of the actions of their owner, assuming his title to be just; therefore, he retains title, and the goods remain his. Similar reasoning will, I believe, show that one can similarly derive a right of recompense, although I shall not detail that here.

Thus far, I have only considered freedom with respect to external sources, yet perhaps there is also compulsion from within. Compelling someone to practice the piano for two hours a day clearly violates his freedom. What if, however, he wishes to become better, and disciplines himself to do so? His freedom is superficially restricted, in that he denies himself other options. But in the same manner, any action restricts one’s freedom, in that it entails not doing whatever else one might be able to do at the time. Thus, the pianist remains free.

This may seem trivial on its own, but bears importantly on Christian freedom. Christian freedom is of two types, which I shall call liberating and restricting. The first is the freedom from “slavery to sin” that enables us to choose to act rightly, which by definition is what is most in our interests. Restricting freedom, on the other hand, is the self-discipline to actually follow that course once it becomes available. These concepts must, I think, remain separate. Liberating freedom is external, for self-imposed bondage is not properly termed such. Restricting freedom, on the other hand, must be internal, for imposed action is amoral. Even though freedom only has value insofar as it allows us to follow a better course of action, it does not follow that “forcing someone to be free” by using compulsion to force him to adopt that course of action increases his freedom; quite the contrary, it restricts his freedom.

1 The necessity of this qualification is evident from the case of famine. If one proclaims a right to the availability of a course of action that satisfies one’s hunger, then a purely natural famine would violate people’s rights (as such a right could not be satisfied for all). By definition, rights are against men, not nature; therefore, the right is invalid.

2 Of course, not all theories do so: see Sen. Reid’s rather entertaining argument that taxes are voluntary at http://eyeam4anarchy.blogspot.com/2009/02/are-taxes-really-voluntary.html. On the other hand, I see no reason to consider his theory sensible.

3 Further, given that one has no reasonable expectation of material freedom, given its dependence on the actions of others, one should care only for doing what is right, not getting what is due.

Circular Reasoning

I used to think that circular reasoning should be one of the rarest of fallacies. Would not someone notice that their argument demands the conclusion as a premise? Since then, two things have surprised me: the prevalence of circular reasoning, and the difficulty of its definition. Here I shall restrict myself to practical reasoning,1 under the definition of “using a premise not granted by one’s opponent to demonstrate to him the falsity of his beliefs”. Thus, while a circular argument may be valid, it has (or should have) no persuasive value.

One of the most pervasive examples I have encountered is Hume’s argument against miracles: because a miracle is, by definition, a violation of natural laws, it is of infinitely low probability, and so any explanation consistent with natural laws is of higher probability. Therefore, no report of a miracle can prove their existence, for it is always better explained without resort to miracles. This argument seems to have dominated secular understandings of miracles, but does it actually prove anything? Note the hidden premise: that all violations of natural laws are of infinitely low probability. I, for one, do not grant the premise, and neither, I suspect, do any who believe in miracles (except, perhaps, for Kierkegaard and his followers, but I can make little sense of his intellectual system and thus cannot speak for him): I hold that divine action is unconstrained by the principles that God has chosen to follow in most circumstances, and thus that miracles are not of infinitely low probability. Since the argument thus depends on proof that miracles are of infinitely low probability (which, rather ironically, science cannot demonstrate), it cannot be used independently to discredit reports of miracles.2

The other place I often see such circular reasoning used is in maintaining the necessity of government. I frequently encounter arguments that the credit crisis proves the necessity of government restraints, or that the thalidomide tragedy proves the necessity of the FDA. In neither case was the market free; the banks were regulated in the first case; the FDA existed in the second. Therefore, for the arguments to validly reject the perfectly free market, one must accept the unstated premise that all regulations reduce the probability of problems. Brought to light, this premise should seem absurd to all people, for it is utterly implausible that all government regulation, whatever its form or intention, is beneficial. But even granting that those who make the argument accept that premise, I doubt that very many supporters of the free market would accept it. I would explain the matter differently: each crisis occurred because the government regulation was insufficient (possibly necessarily so) to avert the problem, but was sufficient to cause people to forsake their own responsibilities of monitoring risks. Thus, I would argue the matter in reverse: the existence of such crisis under a regulatory regime indicates the difficulty (although not, prima facie, the impossibility) of effective regulation. These examples only prove the need for government regulation if one assumes its superior effectiveness, which those who would controvert its need would almost certainly deny.

I must note that use of circular arguments (under this definition) is not itself irrational; I think that all people do and even must use them continually to themselves to address challenges to their position. If any challenge to my belief required me to reprove my positions a nihilo, I would never accomplish anything else(actually, I would never accomplish even this). Thus, it is perfectly reasonable to respond to an argument against one’s position with an argument drawing on the position as a premise, thus maintaining the consistency of one’s beliefs even in the face of the counterargument.3 However, what suffices to maintain one’s own position against a counter-argument does not necessarily suffice as an argument against another’s position. Proper form in an informal debate requires basing all of one’s arguments on premises that one’s opponent accepts. If neither can do so, then the debate must remain inconclusive. Above all, one must not declare irrational one who does not agree with one’s conclusions because he does not believe in one’s premises; unless one can object to his premises on some lower common ground,4 one cannot question the rationality or truth of his opinions. However, this seems to be the form of almost all modern debate (from both sides, I must note; this is why I cannot stand Coulter), particularly in religion and politics. It is possible to demonstrate that miracles are impossible, if one assumes that they are impossible; but what does this prove concerning the rationality of those who hold them to be possible?

1 Circular reasoning has no firm place in classical two-truth value logic, most formulations being trivial or proscribing all valid arguments.

2 Does it even prove that much? It seems to me that Aristotle’s dictum that an impossible plausibility is preferable to a plausible possibility applies to life, not merely poetry. Take the example of Christ’s resurrection: to admit the possibility of resurrection seems less momentous than to admit that so many people would lie with expectation of harm. On the other hand, I must acknowledge that this argument is, itself, somewhat circular, for to admit the possibility of resurrection would be far more momentous to an atheist.

3 However, one must be careful to avoid using one’s position to reject the argument: I believe A, P implies not A, therefore not P. Instead, one must either disprove P without reference to A or prove that P is consistent with A. The statist who holds that state regulation of drugs is beneficial can, while maintaining local rationality, state that failures of state regulation do not disprove its utility because it might be worse without the state control (to dispute which would be to commit the nirvana fallacy). However, if it is then demonstrated that conditions would have been better without the state agency, he may not say that because that contradicts his belief in the state system, the demonstration must be false; he must address the demonstration itself.

4 Which will, I believe, always exist, but may be very difficult to find. Of course, one could merely deny all points of agreement to avoid “losing” a debate, but one hopes that one who does so would still question his beliefs. I would also dispute that he has really avoided losing, for the only way to lose a discussion is to fail to aspire to the truth.

Goodness and the Natural Law

While at a low, practical level, tastes are subjective, what is ultimately beneficial for a man is determined neither by choice nor by accident, but is immutably determined by the nature of creation (the concept of “rightly understood interests” to which some praxeologists refer, that people’s interests are not necessarily what they sincerely desire). What is ultimately desirable in this manner is called “good”.1 However, only rarely can action reach such an ultimate good directly; more often, approach to the ultimate good requires many intermediate steps, which may also be called good by imputation from their object.

Furthermore, causes are attached to effects.2 While many actions (voluntary causations) produce proximate effects that are of no intrinsic desirability, the desirability of their ultimate effects depending on external circumstance, certain actions, even though the specific net state change effected may vary with circumstance, are invariant in the desirability of that change; these actions may be termed absolutely good or bad, depending on the nature of their effects.3

Thus arises a natural law for human behaviour: certain actions are contrary to nature and will always bring harm upon the actor.4 This natural law is not extraneous to creation but an integral part of it, a direct consequence of causality and the existence of universally desirable ends.

This natural law must be differentiated from divine law both in nature and in consequence. Natural law is a property of creation, incapable of change without a change to the created order, with its punishments similarly innate to cause and effect. Divine law, on the other hand, is extraneous to creation, revealed directly by God, and with its punishments accomplished in this world by divine intervention (which need not, of course, be immediate). The two are in consonance, for the creator who commands what he has ordained to be harmful in his creation would be truly perverse (or, from the other perspective, who would arrange creation to punish what he commands). The two need not, however, be coextensive; revealed law may command what is not commanded by natural law, but will not command what is forbidden by it.

The clearest application of the natural law is to individual behaviour; once an action has been determined to be contrary to the natural law, it may be avoided with no need to rederive the harm produced. But natural law seems to have found its greatest influence in legal theory; its application there is murkier. Clearly, a legal system not in consonance with natural law cannot, from the definition of natural law, be beneficial; the same also applies to laws. But consonance with natural law does not (at least directly) imply that laws ought to add to the punishments prescribed by the natural law, for it is in no need of assistance in that respect. Instead, it means that the enforcement of the laws must not involve a violation of the natural law by any party. What this specifically means for government I shall address in a later post.

1 “Good” is predicated of actions, objects, and people in analogous ways; strictly speaking, it refers to a gross state. Attributed to an action, “good” means that the action will result in a better state than the present (but not, it must be noted, necessarily better than all possible states of affairs, for which reason what is good in itself may not be good in a specific instance); attributed to an object, that possession of the use of that object would result in a better state; attributed to a person, that the person does what is good. God is good in both of the latter senses; association with him is desirable and he does what is desirable (the latter being a simple deduction from his omnipotence and omniscience).

2 For the purposes of this discussion, I divide effects into proximate effects, which necessarily and immediately arise without dependence on circumstance not assumed by the action, and ultimate effects, the net state change resulting from the action. Between those extremes is a spectrum of mediate effect.

3 This is a specific case of the general principle of action that certain means are inappropriate to achieve certain effects (such as that price controls are an inappropriate means to achieve the reduction of a shortage); to be termed good or bad, an action must be inappropriate not for one specific ultimate effect, but for all bad or good effects, respectively.

4 Natural law is descriptive, like all other laws, but it describes effects, not behaviour. Many people have commented that it is possible to violate natural laws, albeit with penalty, while it is impossible to violate physical laws; this misstates the point. The actual law is the penalty, not the prohibition.

Value Scales

I was recently asked if we should not trade between multiple values. Everyone values freedom, but if we can greatly increase our prosperity for only small loss of freedom, should we not do so? This question, I think, betrays a misunderstanding of the fundamental nature of values, the ends people seek to achieve in their action. For clarity, we may separate values into intrinsic values, those valued for their own sake, and extrinsic values (also called pragmatic, particularly in LD), those valued for furthering another value. Some values are both, although typically we only pursue them for one reason, and thus they effectively fall into one of the previously enumerated categories.

The most fundamental set of values is that of intrinsic values. Many people with whom I have discussed this subject are of the opinion that our rankings of these intrinsic values are in the form of weights; if we value liberty highly, and prosperity less, we will be willing to sacrifice only a small quantity of liberty for prosperity, but will still be willing to make the trade on at least some terms. But how do we measure quantities of disparate items? Quantity can be compared only if the two quantities share a common unit or if there is some function receiving both as input, the output of which can be compared across different combinations of the input values. But this function is not intrinsic to the values. Thus, the equation is best thought of as a value itself, with the values it involves as contributing values.1 Thus, there is no way in which intrinsic values can be traded, whatever the ratio. Instead, one’s intrinsic values must be ranked sequentially, with one maximizing the first and only pursuing a lower value to the extent compatible with a complete maximization of the first value.

But this explanation of values is incomplete, because we do trade among what we value, albiet only among extrinsic values. Only rarely is an intrinsic value directly attainable by action, more typically requiring considerable foresight and coordination. While theoretically one could compute the proper action by brute force, considering every possibility for the future and every possible course of action, but the enormity of this calculation renders it practically impossible. Thus, people identify values that contribute to their intrinsic values, and pursue these extrinsic values, which are more proximate to action. But these extrinsic values are only valued for their furthering of intrinsic values, and if an intrinsic value were served by only one extrinsic value, it would be impossible to differentiate in action between the two values. Thus, we cannot construct a value scale of extrinsic values as we must of intrinsic values; instead, extrinsic values are subservient to the scale of intrinsic values. Here, trading among values makes sense, for we have a clear standard: maximize the function of the intrinsic value in terms of the extrinsic values. Thus, whenever someone claims to be trading among intrinsic values, these are really extrinsic values, and an intrinsic value appears behind them.

1 Actually, I have been somewhat lenient on those who speak of trading among intrinsic values. The units of values are purely ordinal, and thus to speak of a weight on a value is nonsensical. The concept of a function only makes sense itself if one remembers that function is not necessarily an equation but rather a mapping of input to output, which output may itself be ordinal. Naturally, many of the operations applicable to mathematical equations will be inapplicable to such an ordinal function.

On the Beginning of Time

Did time have a beginning? If time began, then each point in time will be reached given sufficient time. But what if time did not have a beginning, and always existed? Then, every point in time will be preceded by an infinite amount of time. Just as adding to a finite number will never reach infinity, so subtracting from an infinite number will never reach a finite number. We may take the present as a finite reference point; the passage of time, by its very nature, is finite. Thus, if time has no beginning, the amount of time preceding the present is infinite; no passage of time, necessarily finite, could possibly reach the present, a clear absurdity. Therefore, time must have had a beginning.

But we must be very careful about what it means to say that time had a beginning. It does not mean, as we mean when we say that anything else had a beginning, that there was a time when time did not exist, a clear contradiction. But if time had no beginning, something must lie beyond it; if not time, then what? We refer to this meta-time eternity, which at this point we must define by simple negation: eternity is the condition of time not existing. The defining characteristic of time is its passage; thus, in eternity, their must be no passage, no “before” and “after”. But with no before and after, then there can be no change, for change implies a before when one thing is true, and an after when it is not. Thus, eternity is, most simply, changelessnesss, without even the change of growing older.

But some created things, such as souls and angels, are immortal, and thus never cease to exist, and yet in the Apocalypse of John, we read “and time shall be no more”. Nothing created can be eternal, for being created implies change. Thus, we must designate a third status, aeviternity. Aeviternity is, as it were, a created eternity, having a beginning, but no further change.

Thus classification solves, I think, many commonly raised problems. For example, one objection raised against divine creation is that it implies that God at one point did not see fit to create the world, and then did, implying that God changes his mind. But this supposes that God lives within time and that time was not itself part of the creation; in reality, time just is, without being preceded by a different time. Thus, God simply created the earth, just as the Son simply proceeds from the Father, without the procession involving temporal change. The only difference is that that the Son exists in eternity, and thus it is appropriate to use the present tense, while the earth exists in time, and thus it is appropriate to use the past tense. All times the present with respect to God, and thus a change occurring in time implies no change in God.

Concerning Happiness

What is happiness?

1. It seems that happiness is pleasure, for happiness is the end of all men, and all men pursue pleasure, according to their separate definition.
2. It seems that happiness is wealth, for happiness is an action, and the wealthy man possesses more tools to aid his action.
3. It seems that happiness is the prosperity of good, for all men desire that what they consider good prospers.
4. It seems that happiness is the success of one’s actions, for all men desire that their actions achieve their goal.

On the other hand, many who pursue pleasure and possess wealth are not happy, so happiness is neither of these things. Furthermore, the prosperity of good and the success of one’s actions do not lie wholly within one’s own powers, and so if happiness is either of those, happiness would be a condition. But happiness is an action, as is proven elsewhere. Therefore, happiness is neither the prosperity of good nor the success of one’s actions.

Rather, since happiness is a proper end, it must be the pursuit of good, not of pleasure. And since happiness lies within one’s own power, it must be the pursuit of pleasure only insofar as it lies within one’s power. And since happiness cannot rely on unknowable information regarding the future and conditions external to one’s actions, happiness must be not the pursuit of good with respect to what one knows after the action, but that before. Thus, happiness is the pursuit of good insofar as one is able with respect to information contemporaneous to the action.

Hence:
1. Happiness is the end of all men, but only the prudent choose suitable means toward their end. Thus, happiness is only the pursuit of pleasure for the prudent man.
2. Not all sources and uses of wealth are good. Thus, happiness is only wealth insofar as wealth is acquired and used rightly. Furthermore, some have greater means of acquiring wealth than others, which fact cannot hinder the latter’s ability to pursue happiness. Thus, happiness is in no case wealth absolutely, but rather the right use of opportunities for wealth.
3. All men ought to wish that good prospers, but while to fail to do this would be an inhuman withholding of moral judgement, to bind one’s happiness to that which is not within one’s control is foolish. The expression of contentment of the wise man is not “That which I have loved has prospered”, but rather “I myself have acted justly”.
4. Many actions, well intentioned and well planned, go astray. Thus, were happiness bound to the success of one’s actions, the fool who acted imprudently yet succeeded would have a greater claim to happiness than the prudent man whose well-laid plans went astray for reasons outside his knowledge and control. When the wise man says “I have done well”, he means not that his actions have succeeded, but that, if he faces an identical situation, with the same knowledge, he would act the same.